I Come From a Long Line. . .

. . . Of biscuit makers! Suz has started something. She has decided it was high time she learned how to make biscuits. My mama makes biscuits. My grandmothers made biscuits. My great-grandmother made biscuits. And the buck stopped with my mama. None of the three of us girls has ever mastered the art of baking biscuits. At least ones that wouldn't knock a horse down if you threw them.

So. . . today I decided that if Suz could do it, then I could do it. At least try. With two cups of flour, a quarter cup of shortening and between three-fourths and a full cup of buttermilk, how hard could they be?

I made two batches. The first pan had more buttermilk -- a full cup -- and the second pan only had three-fourths of a cup. The first pan was pretty good. The second pan I may throw at my insurance company if they don't soon let me know something about Cam's truck. They were a little dry and hard.

Suz has made them several times trying to perfect them -- or rather, should I say, make them as good as our mama's. She said she's almost got it. I'm pretty excited, though, because I've never even tried to make biscuits. For a first attempt, I did a pretty good job. I'm thinking bacon. I'm thinking cheese. I'm thinking egg. Or maybe just plain ol' honey.

So I give myself a pat on the back for giving the unthinkable a shot. I just may make a pan of biscuits every day. I bet my grandmothers in heaven are smiling down on Suz and me for keeping the biscuits coming!

Till tomorrow.